Foretaste of Heaven
Finding Glimpses of Eternity in Our Shared Human Experience
I hadn't seen them in a year, but our daily group texts and occasionally lengthy voice messages (ahem, me!) kept us connected across the miles. Our friendships, forged through years of shared joy and sorrow, transcended physical distance. Most of us have known each other for over a decade, having worshiped, worked, and weathered life's storms together. We love fiercely, support unconditionally, and stand in the gap for one another through life's most challenging moments.
I arrived for our reunion, playfully called “sisters with their misters,” excited to be with those who know the best and worst parts of me and love me faithfully with both grace and truth. It wasn’t just any dinner; it was a sort of homecoming—a gathering not of friends but of family.
The home had been lovingly prepared for our arrival. The table was aglow, with candles flickering and dancing in the wine glasses. Flowers adorned the table, and the delightful smell of dinner hung in the air. It was a feast for the senses and respite for the soul.
As we gathered around the table to share a meal, I looked at the faces around me and was struck by a surreal feeling. In a rare moment of speechlessness, I managed to mutter a simple, “This feels a little bit like heaven." It was one of those moments when the boundary between earth and eternity seemed unusually thin, almost translucent.
That evening around the table was more than a reunion. It was a glimpse of something transcendent, a foretaste of heaven. Looking at my friends, I was reminded of the promise of a future reality when our brokenness gives way to the wholeness of new creation, and we will once again gather for a feast celebrating all that God has done.
Three Realities of New Heaven and Earth
“Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” Revelation 21:1-4, ESV
I’ve always loved this passage from Revelation 21. But the older I get, the more my imagination is captured by eternity. Maybe that’s because the longer I live in this world, the more acutely aware I am of its profound brokenness. And I deeply desire to experience all of the goodness of restored creation. Sitting at the table with my friends that night, experiencing a foretaste of our future reality, only furthered my hunger and left me contemplating life in the new heaven and earth.
As I reflect on the promise of restoration, I'm struck by three powerful realities that will characterize our existence in new creation: the end of suffering, freedom from sin, and the 'with-ness' of God.
No more suffering
My friends and I have spent hours, days, weeks, and years together. We have faithfully carried one another’s stories and attended to one another’s hearts. We have suffered individually and collectively—bearing witness to each other's losses and crying copious tears with and for one another. We have prayed for suffering children and buried grandchildren, parents, and siblings. And we’ve rallied whenever one of us navigated unbearable hardship. Ours is a life lived together in a world still affected by the curse of sin.
I can only imagine what it will be like to be together in a world without suffering. No more broken relationships. No more betrayal, abuse, or injustice. No more chronic pain. No more burying loved ones. No more depression, anxiety, or mental illness. No more loss, grief, or sorrow. No more pain—physical, relational, spiritual, or emotional—just the presence of all that is true, rich, and good about this world without any of the death, disease, and decay!
I often find myself praying for Jesus to come quickly so that we can finally be free of all the sorrow and suffering of this life. But as I look around the table at the faces of some of my dearest friends, I am surprised by the paradox. While our suffering has often been the result of great loss, suffering together has somehow made us richer. Suffering hasn’t weakened us; it has fortified us and made us more solid—individually and collectively. While we have, at times, depleted ourselves bearing one another’s burdens, our bonds are stronger and more profound. And we've become more whole by baring the fractured places of our souls to one another.
While there will be no more suffering in the new heavens and earth, I am reminded that Jesus' resurrected and glorified body still bears the scars of what he suffered. His wounds are not marks of defeat but testaments to redemption—visible proof that our pain is not forgotten but transformed. Christ's scars reveal a profound theological truth: suffering is not erased but redeemed and given meaning.
Just as the ancient Japanese art of kintsugi transforms broken pottery into a beautiful piece of art, God does not minimize our suffering but highlights it as part of his transformative power. Our pain becomes part of our story of healing, not as an open wound but as a healed scar that testifies to survival, grace, and restoration. On that day, our celebrations will be deeper, our joy more profound, because we will more clearly see how our fractures reveal God’s lavish grace.
Our current sufferings are not trivial. They are significant and real. But, ultimately, they pale in comparison to the goodness and beauty to come (2 Corinthians 4:17). And I can’t help but feel I glimpsed it at the table among my friends that night—in every shared glance and knowing nod.
No more sin
Our lives on this side of eternity are fractured. The desires of our flesh and our spirit are divided. They war against one another (Galatians 5:17). I feel the pull toward sin and selfishness. I want to love God and my neighbor, yet I don’t want to give up my comfort, security, or resources. I want to live in a way that honors God, yet I don’t always do it. I understand all too well the apostle Paul’s words in Romans 7:
“I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate…I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I keep on doing…I delight in the law of God, in my inner being, but I see in my members another law waging war against the law of my mind and making me captive to the law of sin that dwells in my members. Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death” (vs. 15, 19, 22-24, ESV)?
I long for wholeness, for what the Old Testament refers to as shalom. Shalom, often translated as peace, is complex and robust. It is the absence of conflict—whether the result of the inner turmoil we experience because of our sinful desires or the relational conflict we experience between God and others. No more fractures or jagged edges. No more pull toward sin—our flesh and our spirit no longer warring with one another. But shalom is also so much more. It is the presence of everything good, true, and beautiful. To experience shalom is to be utterly, completely whole.
In his book, The Problem of Pain, C.S. Lewis said, “to enter heaven is to become more human than you ever succeeded in being on earth.” That is shalom! That is what it will feel like to live without the shadows of sin. No more questioning our motives. No more wrestling with sin. No more slip-ups, failures, mistakes, or willful rebellion. No more fighting with or against ourselves, God, and others. No more hiding. No more hurting those we love.
Can you imagine? Now and then, I catch glimpses of it—moments when I experience freedom from the oppression of my own sin. But shalom will not be experienced entirely on this side of eternity. We are in the process of becoming whole. Through the Holy Spirit, the Lord is refining us like gold, removing all impurities until only the purest gold remains. But on that day, we will finally be who God intends us to be. Wholly alive. Wholly ourselves. Wholly free.
With-Ness
If the first two realities are the absence of all that is broken, the third reality is the presence of that which is good—the with-ness of God.
“Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God.” Revelation 21:3
This with-ness is the pinnacle of God’s redemptive plan, reestablishing our intimate communion with him. We are no longer exiles or sojourners wandering in a foreign land. Our home is with God, and his home is with us. The most hope-filled reality of the new heavens and new earth is the presence of Immanuel, God with us.
Finally home. With God. With one another. Every nation, tribe, and tongue. Male and female. Dwelling in unity, harmony, and fellowship with one another for all eternity.
Healed. Whole. Together.
In that moment, surrounded by friends who had seen me at my best and worst, I caught a glimpse of something greater—a promise of restoration that extends far beyond our current understanding. In our laughter, shared stories, and unbreakable connection, we were already tasting a small piece of eternity. And that, as my friend Ruthie would say, deserves a hearty: "Cheers to Jehovah!"
I love you guys!
CC
P.S. I loved this video from Megan Fate Marshman (Women’s Pastor of Arbor Road Church in California). In this video, she lists what won’t be in the new heavens and earth. What a wonderfully imaginative and worshipful exercise!
I plan to start my own list. What would you put on your list? Please share your ideas in the comments below so we can imagine our future together!
P.P.S Here is a pic of my beautiful, strong, wise, fierce, yet tender friends.
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Crying happy tears at this beautifully captured memory. Love you CC.